


An American at the Met

by YuukiToshi



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Gen, London, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Scotland Yard, Sherlock References, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YuukiToshi/pseuds/YuukiToshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short story for school I got 100% on, so I figured I'd post it here to get a real opinion. There are several Sherlock references in here that my teacher did not get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An American at the Met

“Brawling is never going to be your weakness is it?” the eye roll wasn’t quite there yet, but the man’s voice was desert dry. He was tall and fit, leaning against the bars of the cell. 

“Well, the Bobby deserved it.” This man was sitting on a barely adequate bench, his legs and arms crossed despite the humour in his tone.

“No he didn’t, I was being arrested and you were overreacting.”

“Maybe a little,” He paused, “but just a little.”

“A little?” This time the eye roll made it onto his face.

“Okay, maybe a lot.”

The tall man, laughing, began to pace. “Your sister is going to kill me, we were only supposed to be getting the story out of those guys, not getting into a bar fight.” Three steps forward and another three back, the cell was rather small.

“You? It’s me she’s gunna kill, I chose a bad time to so as she asked me. She told me to watch your back; said you were great at telling the story but not so good at getting the info.” 

The tall man laughed again, but this time a smile stayed on his face. Three steps forward, “Did she really?” Three steps back, completely calm. 

“Don’t know why she would say that though, before that tosser started up in the pub you were getting loads of information.”

“Maybe she was thinking of a different man when she told you about me?”

“Oi! You’re definitely the guy she was talking about, pretty hair and everything.” 

“Pretty hair?” He asked, stopping the pacing to lean against the far wall, his eyebrows creeping up to his hairline at the other man’s statement.

“Her description, not mine.”

“Better than ‘That damn yank’ I guess.”

“Oh no, she called you that too,” He grinned, “Though, it’s always said in a rather nice way. Why did you break up again?”

“Oh you know, different jobs, different lives. Different continents.”

“You’re both reporters though? Although that was news to me, I never did hear much about you until about a week before you came over here.”

“We’re both reporters, but ah, she travels and I don’t, not really.” The brother just raised his eyebrows. “This is a special occasion, it takes a lot for my…agency to allow me to travel outside of the United States. Expenses and such.

“Really? Then why on earth would your company shell out the money to investigate those blokes? They were entirely uninteresting; they hardly seemed worth an article.”

“We think they knew someone involved in a high profile crime actually, we’re trying to get the ah…the scoop before any other news agency.”

“Oh. What crime?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you right away, we can’t risk any leaks.”

“Even here?”

“Even here, I did say it was high profile,” A grin that was more predatory than humorous stretched across his face, “Hopefully I’ll catch the story quickly once we get out of these damn cells.”

“Ah, what do you think they’re going to do to us then? I’ve never managed to get myself arrested before, just an ASBO once.”  
The tall man just laughed and said, “They aren’t going to do anything to me, they may fine you but I doubt it. An ASBO?” 

The one sitting down just waved off the question “Not important, it went away after a couple of years since I did as I was told. Thankfully I was given a position with the Times doing celeb shots, rather than wandering all over London looking for bloody trouble.”

The tall man grimaced “I don’t envy you working with the celebrities. I had to interrogate one once and it got hairy pretty quick.” 

“Interrogate? That’s a bit extreme isn’t it? Was this person not interested in a proper interview?”

“Are they ever?”

“True enough”

“Why are these cops working so damn slow? We should be out of here by now.”

“Funny you should say that.” A new man walked into the room. “My name is Detective Inspector Anderson, it turns out you can go, and your friend as well; we won’t be pressing any charges. I don’t want to piss off the American Embassy. So sorry about the mix up.” 

The man sitting down shot to his feet, “What do you mean mix up?” 

“One of his covers showed up on our computers and our officer didn’t bother to look farther into the file. Again, I apologise for the inconvenience.”

“You lost me my informants,” The good humor had vanished.

“You can expect the cooperation of New Scotland Yard in tracking them down sir.”

The other man is watching the conversation between the detective and his companion like he would watch a particularly vicious match at Wimbledon, “what do you mean ‘covers’? What do you mean ‘informants’?”

The American let his head fall back and groaned, muttering some disparaging comments about working in the field and without a proper partner then responded to his companion’s question “I’m CIA. These lovely gentlemen,” he gestured to the detective on the other side of the bars, “have most likely obtained the file of my last undercover OP in which I may have gotten into trouble in a Canadian airport. I had no idea the file had come so far or I would have dealt with it before I left.”

“You had a gun on you sir, I am under the assumption the Canadians don’t particularly like those in their airports, and nor does the rest of the Commonwealth.” The detective looks mildly embarrassed to have outted the agent, but looks compelled to provide a decent excuse for the mix up.

“So wait, if you’re a CIA agent why the bloody hell are you working with me and not another agent? And why did my sister send you to me? Does she know you’re a bloody CIA agent?”

“I’m working with you because I’m not so much undercover as just trying to avoid attention – not that it worked- and your sister said you were a good photographer who was likely to take clear pictures I could use. Yes she knows who I work for…no she’s not working for whatever poses for your English version of the CIA. Can you open the door?” the last bit was directed at the now thoroughly bemused detective who opened the door; leading the way to the desk where they could fill out the paperwork.

“…are you going to look for those guys again or are you going to head home?”

“I’m going to look for them,” he shot a grin over his shoulder, “want to tag along?”

“Hell yea.”


End file.
